


Hidden Blessing

by walviemort



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23578882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walviemort/pseuds/walviemort
Summary: Killian thought the only thing he was left with after Milah's death was a broken heart and a thirst for vengeance. It's not until he gets to Storybrooke, after so many years spent in stasis, that he discovers something else: he's carrying her child. How does this new, tiny blessing change his path? (Canon-divergent from 2x12.)
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 18
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SherlockianWhovian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockianWhovian/gifts).



> Happiest of birthdays to SherlockianWhovian!! This story began as a weird idea I messaged to her, and then resulted in a spiraling back-and-forth between us. I've been picking at it for a while now, and today seemed like a good day to start posting it :) It will mostly follow canon, though I may jump around a bit—TBD (also, don't expect any sort of posting schedule, haha). Hope you like it, and send some birthday love to SW!

With the heaviest of hearts, Killian watched as the body of his darling lover—and part of his soul—dropped to the depths of the sea. A significant part of him wanted to join her, but he knew that’d be a disservice to her memory. 

So instead, he led his crew to Neverland to bide their time until he could find a way to destroy his crocodile. Aside from a handful of ventures into the Enchanted Forest and other realms, they spent close to a century in the ageless realm. 

When they finally left Neverland for good, it was only a couple of weeks until he was again put in stasis by the Dark Curse. Once time unfroze, he got anxious as the months ticked by and they couldn’t leave, but Cora assured him—“Time still hasn’t started to move here, not really; we’re just not frozen in place. You’ll still have your pretty face once the curse breaks.”

And when it did, everything seemed to run faster. Was it really only a matter of days from the time the curse broke, to meeting Swan, to their adventure (and her subsequent betrayal) on the beanstalk, to fighting at Lake Nostos, to landing in Storybrooke? No wonder he was nauseous once they’d docked in the sleepy town. 

He figured a night of rest would send that away, but it lingered in the following days, even while enacting Cora’s plan and finally, finally starting to seek his revenge. Though the rounds of abuse suffered at the hands of the Dark One and his librarian lover certainly didn’t help. 

He got the last laugh, though, with his pistol. Watching the Crocodile’s panic at the realization his love didn’t know him filled him with glee—even if he was in pain a minute later after being thrown by the heavy metal coach. 

So it wasn’t much surprise when, hours later as he woke in the infirmary, everything hurt, including his stomach. 

“Good morning, Hook,” a man said a bit later. “I’m the doctor looking after you; name’s Whale. You took quite a hit there.”

The blonde man looked as haggard as he felt; Killian recognized a hangover when he saw one. But he only eyed the man warily and let him continue. 

“Nothing too serious happened, and you’re lucky. Ribs heal, but we’ll have to be careful not to do anything to hurt the baby.”

Killian blinked. Baby? What? He wasn’t expecting. “Beg your pardon, mate?” he asked, voice a bit rough with disuse. “What baby?”

Whale seemed surprised. “Your baby; the one you’re pregnant with right now. You didn’t know?”

Cold fear washed over Killian; he couldn’t be, could he? “Is this some kind of joke?” he bit out angrily. 

“It’s not; we checked your blood before giving you any pain medication. You know you’re capable of carrying children, right?”

“Aye,” he confirmed; all men in his family had a womb, so he knew it was possible. “But I haven’t lain with anyone in at least a century.” Not since his last night with Milah—though, as he recalled vividly, the situation was right for him to conceive. 

The doctor thought about it for a moment, then asked, “If it’s been that long, then how are you still here as a healthy young man?”

“I’ve been in Neverland; time doesn’t move there,” he explained. “As well as a handful of other situations that left me in stasis.”

“Well, that’s it, then,” the doctor said. “If your body wasn’t aging, neither was the fetus. But now that you’re here, that kid is finally getting the chance to grow.” 

The man continued to drone on about the biology behind everything, but the only thing Killian could focus on anymore was the fact that he was pregnant—with Milah’s child. A child she’d never know. Yet another thing the Crocodile had taken from them. 

Anger threatened to wash over him again, but then a quick wave of nausea brought him back down and found him instead staring at his midsection. He tried to place his hand on it, but found it was cuffed to the side of the bed. So instead, he put his bare stump over it, a rush of paternal feelings rising within. 

He wasn’t sure how his blood had confirmed it, but once he’d heard the words, something just clicked and he knew it to be true. He was going to be a father. And suddenly, he didn’t want anything else.

“Hook, did you hear any of that?”

Killian blinked and looked back up at the doctor. “Afraid not.”

Whale sighed. “Okay, I’ll say the important parts again: we want to do an exam to make sure everything is okay with your baby, given the number of hits you’ve taken over the last few days. Does that sound alright?”

“I suppose so, yes.” If anything, he was curious about this realm’s medicine and how it worked. But if it enabled him to ensure the well being of his child, then he’d do it without hesitation; he’d likely done enough to risk their health. 

“Alright; I’m headed into surgery, but someone from the OB-GYN will be around later. Rest up until then.”

He didn’t know what those letters meant, but nodded his assent and the doctor left. Which meant he was alone—but not really, apparently. 

He glanced back down at his still-flat stomach. At first, he was filled with shame at not knowing that new life was growing within him; goodness, the things he’d done in the past decades. Hell, the past month. He’d have to curb that immediately, assuming he hadn’t done any damage already.

Gods, he couldn’t live with himself if he had. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. Though he was sure the babe couldn’t hear him, it helped to say it out loud. “If I had known, I would have been so much more careful. But from now on, I promise to do whatever I can to keep you safe. Always.”

His mind grew fuzzy not long after and he drifted off; it was no surprise that he dreamed of holding a small child in his arms. They had bright blue eyes and curly hair that seemed to change color on a whim, from black to red to blonde. They were darling and precious and he couldn’t wait to meet them.

Until something pulled him from his dreams, and he was suddenly aware of another presence in the room. He blinked, winced at the various maladies all over his body, and was finally able to focus; Emma was sitting on the edge of his bed.

Emma; he’d forgotten about her for a bit there. (Understandably.) She looked pissed, which didn’t surprise him, but just as fierce as ever. Something stirred somewhere else—thankfully not his stomach, for once—and the attraction to her that he didn’t fully understand came back. He was torn between wanting to bed her and fight her. (Maybe both?)

She set the tone immediately, though. “Where's Cora?” she asked sternly.

He tried to sit up, preferring to have a confrontation at the same eye level, but first the cuff stopped him, and then his sore ribs did. “Damn, that hurts,” he hissed.

Emma stood and hovered over him. “Told you. You cracked a few ribs. Where's Cora?”

She was all business, but she was no match for his well-honed deflection skills—or flirtatious front. “You look good, I must say, all "Where's Cora?" in a commanding voice. Chills,” he added salaciously. It was fun to get a rise from her.

She just raised her eyebrow, unamused. “You have all sorts of sore places I can make you hurt.” without warning, she lunged forward, aiming for his ribs; instinctively, he brought up his left arm to protect both them and his baby. She didn’t connect, but clearly wasn’t afraid of using physical torture methods; in that instant, he knew—he wasn’t about to tell her, or anyone else, about the baby just yet; not if they could use it against him.

She pulled back and he relaxed, but the ache was renewed. Sighing, he told her, “I've no idea where Cora is. She has her own agenda.” And it was true; he hadn’t seen the witch since she placed the cloaking spell on his ship. “Let's talk about something I am interested in: my hook.” He felt slightly naked without his prosthesis. “May I have it back? Or is there another...attachment you'd prefer,” he tossed back, eyes glancing down his body. If he couldn’t physically defend himself, he could at least annoy her until she left. (Though he wouldn’t complain if she took him up on the offer.)

Emma rolled her eyes, of course. “You're awfully chipper for a guy who just failed to kill his enemy, then got hit by a car.”

“Well, my ribs may be broken, but everything else is still intact, which is more than can be said for all the other bad days I've had,” he said, gesturing with his stump. “Plus I did some quality damage to my foe.” 

“You hurt Belle.”

“I hurt his heart. Belle is just where he keeps it. He killed my love. I know the feeling.” Even further reason to keep his child far away from anyone who could hurt them.

Emma gave him a wry, insincere grin, and bent over him to come closer. “Keep smiling, buddy. He's on his feet, immortal, has magic, and you hurt his girl. If I had to pick dead guy of the year, I'd pick you.” And without another word, she turned and left.

He sighed and gently placed his stump back over his stomach; he hadn’t wanted to do that in front of Emma, lest it give her any ideas—male pregnancy was rare, but not unheard of, and he didn’t know how much she knew of the magical realms yet. But the encounter proved one thing: the number of people he could trust in this town was small, possibly nonexistent. 

And only reinforced that his child wouldn’t truly be safe until Rumplestiltskin was out of the picture completely.

Gods, he’d only known about the babe for a matter of hours and already had recentered his life around him or her. It wasn’t the first time he’d done that, of course, but still—it took him by surprise.

He dozed off again for an unknown period of time until a soft knocking woke him. “Oh, sorry; didn’t know you were asleep,” a timid-looking man said. He had white hair and glasses and was of short stature, looking altogether unthreatening—but the machinery he pushed on a small cart was completely foreign to Killian. “I’m Doc, the obstetrician.”

“The what?” was all Killian could say.

“I’m here to check on the baby.”

“Oh!” Killian exclaimed, and tried again to sit up, only to fail again.

“Here; let me.” The doctor rushed to the side of Killian’s bed and pressed something, making the top half of the bed lift as if by magic. 

“How did you do that?” Killian asked, trying to peer over the rail without causing further injury.

“It’s all mechanical; I can show you later. But first: can you tell me when you think you conceived?”

“Um, about 130 years ago, if my arithmetic is correct.”

The doctor dropped his pen as soon as he’d picked it up. “Beg your pardon?”

Killian explained again his history with Neverland, and Doc was well aware of the magical happenings since then, having been equally cursed. Killian also told him what he knew about his ability to carry children, though it wasn’t much, seeing as his father refused to and his brother never got the chance. “All I know is the woman has to be on top,” he summarized.

“Got it,” Doc answered, though clearly embarrassed a bit. “Well, given that this is as new to me as it is to you, I’m going to have to do some poking around in some...personal places. Is that alright?”

“Don’t have much choice, do I?”

“No, sorry; but I’ll be gentle.”

The doctor was true to his word, carefully examining Killian’s stomach and private areas and proclaiming that everything appeared to look good.

But then he picked up a wand-like device that appeared to be attached to the machine he’d brought with him, and started fiddling with the contraption. “What’s that?” Killian had to ask.

The doctor was blushing; this couldn’t be good. “Well, uh,” he stammered, clearly not sure how to explain it; Killian subconsciously wrapped his arm around his stomach a bit tighter. “It’s a machine that lets us see inside the womb; there are a couple different kinds here, but this one is a little more...invasive.”

The fact that such a device existed was incredible to Killian, but he quickly put two and two together. “Does that...thing...go inside me?”

“I’m afraid it does.”

“Bloody hell. Is it necessary?”

“Given what you’ve gone through, and that we’re not really sure how far along you are, it is.”

Killian sighed dramatically, but he could tell it was important. “Go ahead.”

While he knew worse lay ahead, he sincerely hoped to not have to go through anything so awkward as that examination. “Just look at the screen,” Doc said, trying to keep him calm; but the space on the machine only showed nondescript black and gray blurs at first. The feeling of the device within him was not pleasant, either, but finally, Doc proclaimed “Ah! There it is! Hear that?”

The oddest noise filled the room from the machine; Killian had no description for it. “What is that?”

“That’s your baby’s heartbeat, and look—there it is on the screen.”

It didn’t look like much, but Killian had to admit—there was something vaguely humanoid about the blob-like images on the screen.

“That’s the head, and the spine, and there’s the legs.”

Killian had to tilt his head to make sense of it, but it started to take shape. “Does it not have arms?”

Doc chuckled. “It does; we just can’t see them right now. Based on that image, I’d put you at about 11 weeks along.”

“You can tell from that? And what does that even mean?” He’d never heard of measuring pregnancy like that; he knew it took a certain number of months, but most people just estimated. The fact that they could narrow it down so much was astonishing—and made him realize how little he knew about what was to come.

Thankfully, Doc explained everything as he removed the device and cleaned up, and they were able to estimate a due date; he also recommended coming in regularly for appointments to track the progress of the child’s growth, which Killian wasn’t sure would be necessary, but he agreed in order to placate the doctor. 

The machine made some more weird noises and spat something out, which Doc took and handed to Killian. “Here; you can keep that.” It was the picture from the screen; goodness, this realm was proving to be a technological marvel. He wanted to take it but, again—handcuffs. “Oh, I’ll put it on the table then,” Doc said, and started to, but Killian couldn’t risk anyone seeing it.

“No, don’t—if you know where my coat ended up, can you put it in there? I...I don’t want anyone knowing just yet.”

“I understand,” Doc answered with a small smile. “It’s in the closet over here.”

As he put it away, Killian added, “I can trust your discretion, yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Doc finished gathering his things and headed towards the door. “Oh, and Captain—one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“Congratulations.”

Killian tried, but couldn’t hide his smile. “Thank you.”

He was going to be a father—a father to a child that was, by some miracle, the product of he and the woman he’d loved above all else. He didn’t consider himself a lucky man, but thanked the gods that they’d seen fit to bless him just this once. 

And he fell asleep once more, knowing that—for the first time in so many years—he had something worth living for other than his revenge.


	2. Chapter 2

A few days later, Killian had been released from the hospital and was finally enjoying a much-needed uninterrupted nap—or so he thought. When he’d first arrived back at the docks, the prince and princess were also there, attempting to interrogate him about Cora’s whereabouts; why this town was convinced he was her babysitter was unknown to him, so he’d had to disavow them of that notion. (It had also become blatantly obvious where Emma had inherited both her violent streak and her impatience; even if the man hadn’t raised her, she was definitely his daughter—and he vowed then and there that such a fate would not befall his child).

He was already tucking himself into bed on his ship when he heard the commotion above deck that told him the so-called heroes had unlocked the cage containing the giant; the sounds of struggle (and what was hopefully the prince being punched) along with ensuing footfalls running off the ship were the last things he heard before sleep blissfully claimed him.

He was dreaming of what his quarters might look like with a crib next to his bed, toys strewn across the floor, when he was rudely awakened—again. What an inhospitable town.

“Hook?” a feminine voice called out from the deck. “I know you’re here.”

“Bloody hell,” he cursed to himself, throwing back the covers and rising as quickly as he could with his still-sore ribs. Getting his pants back on took more effort than he’d like, but that was all he bothered with.

Barefooted and bare chested, he climbed the stairs to see Regina waiting impatiently. “Yes, your highness?” he asked, not bothering to hide either the tiredness in his voice or his annoyance.

“There you are. My mother sent me. You know, the one you were supposed to kill?”

“Oh, that. Well, I didn't want to deprive you of a happy reunion.” His grin was fake and she knew it.

“Well, it's your lucky day. She and I have made amends.”

“And you're here to thank me? How sweet.”

Regina’s responding smile was equally fake. “Not quite. She wants to know if they've found the ship.”

If he’d had his hook, it would have been on her neck for interrupting his nap for what amounted to little more than a business conversation; she just wanted to know what was going on with the giant.

“Is that all?” he asked when he’d given her the update. “Because if so, I’ve really got some things to attend to here.”

“Yes, that’s all,” she said, but tilted her head in curiosity. “I figured you’d be a lot more ready to get your revenge. You’re typically chomping at the bit for some murder.”

“If I could get some bloody sleep, I’d be more ready for that,” he snapped back. 

She narrowed her gaze on him and looked him up and down. He wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but her eyes stopped at his midsection for a brief moment and widened. Instinctively, he moved his arm in front of him, but that might have been a fatal move. 

Her eyes found his again with an uncomfortably knowing smirk on her lips. “I’ll leave you to your rest, then. See you around, Hook.” And with a wave of her hand, she poofed away.

If she knew, he would deal with that later. First things first: back to sleep. (And maybe some food.)

\----------------------------------

After a week of rest, he found his bones were doing much better, though the nausea he’d been dealing with had evolved into full-blown sickness. The pamphlets told him that was normal but it was exceedingly obnoxious. At least his food stores on board were fairly bland.

“I can’t believe you actually enjoy hard tack,” he said to the babe; a different pamphlet told him the baby couldn’t hear him yet, but it was comforting to talk to them—or at least complain.

Much like he’d noticed in the hospital, it was almost whiplash-inducing how quickly he’d rearranged everything in his life to put the child first. But he also knew that, had his life followed a remotely normal trajectory, he and Milah would have done the same. Where he once thought revenge was the only way to honor her, he now knew that protecting and raising this child would be better.

“But, oh love, I wish you were here,” he whispered to the night sky, hoping that wherever she was, she’d hear him.

He read over the pamphlets Doc had given him many times over, until they began to look ragged and he worried they might not make it through the duration of his pregnancy. One listed several books that could be referenced, but given his history with the town librarian—and he being the reason for her current leave of absence—he’d have to make do without them. 

Briefly, he considered seeking out Emma’s help; but based on their last encounter, he doubted she’d give it. Still, though—she was the only one around that had been through all this that he might be able to talk to. Maybe at some point. But not in the immediate future.

One fact remained, though: no child of Killian’s—and especially Milah’s—was safe while the Dark One still roamed free. So once he felt closer to being on the mend, he dug some ginger drops out of storage to hopefully aid the nausea and sought out his would-be allies.

Cora and Regina were deep in discussion when he arrived at the queen’s mansion, but he caught a few key phrases and didn’t care about interrupting. “Where's Rumplestiltskin gone?”

They both jumped at his voice, but were too poised to let it throw them off. “I don't know,” Regina answered tearfully.

A glimmer of hope he hadn’t felt since before the dark curse started to glow again. “Well, if he's left town, then he's powerless. He can be killed.” The ladies went on some diatribe about how they’d lose their magic if they crossed the town line, but he didn’t care. “Well, I don't need magic. I'll go after him alone.”

Regina stood and gave him a look he didn’t like—one that said she knew too much. For a moment, he feared she might out his secret, but thankfully she didn’t. She still lectured, though, “Even if you could find him, do you really think you could just walk to him and stab him in the heart with your sword?”

“Well, I'd prefer my hook, but I can't seem to find that now.”

“You're not going anywhere,” Cora scolded.

“I deserve my vengeance!” he bit out angrily. And, moreso, the security in knowing that his child would grow up safe. The pitying look Regina was giving him told him she at least understood.

Cora didn’t notice, thankfully. “You're right. You do, and with the Dark One gone, we can search for the one magical item that could actually kill him here—his dagger.”

Somewhat ironically, they ended up at the library, searching for...something. Part of him desperately wanted to leave them to their quest and find the recommended books, but much too quickly, Regina discovered the map.

It was easy enough to decipher. But he really should have seen Cora’s betrayal—and subsequent magical assault—coming. 

(At least Regina seemed vaguely apologetic before he was rendered unconscious.)

Whatever. He was more than capable of doing things on his own.

But first—he found those books; hopefully, no one would mind if he hadn’t formally checked them out. (The atlases...well, hopefully no one needed those references anytime soon.)

It took some more surreptitious spying to figure out where the Dark One had gone, and he took more than a bit of pleasure in knocking out the prince to retrieve his hook from storage in the constable’s offices. 

And then he was on his way to whatever this New York City was. He started reading a book called  _ What to Expect When You’re Expecting _ on the trip there—then locked everything related to childbearing in his private safe on the ship before leaving it. He was confident no one would discover it, but one could never be too careful.

Finding the Dark One was surprisingly easy. 

Stabbing him was thrilling; everything he’d ever dreamed of.

But his fatal flaw was not factoring Emma Swan into the equation, nor the heavy metal canister she threw at his head.

Still, though: he’d stabbed a magicless Dark One with the worst poison known to man; another thing that had been stored in his safe. The last thing Killian saw before slipping into oblivion—again—was his mortal enemy’s prone form, knowing that there was no cure for the venom making its way to his heart.

_ I’ve done it, love _ , he thought.  _ He’s done. We can move on _ . Which “love” that was, he didn’t have time to consider. All he knew was that finally, he could rest, and await whatever came next.

\----------------------------------------------

He’d been in worse brigs than the one he subsequently found himself in. Having his left arm awkwardly chained to a bed frame wasn’t ideal but the Tamara lass fed him, let him use the lavatory as needed (which he was finding he needed to do with more regularity), even allowed him to bathe every few days. (Out of necessity, she’d also provided him with a bucket for dealing with his bouts of sickness; he wrote it off as withdrawal, and she didn’t question it. Not the first time a reputation as a boozy pirate worked in his favor.)

He was far from a willing prisoner, but she’d hidden his hook and always had her gun at the ready, so there were no smart ways for him to try to stage an escape. Besides, Baelfire—because he was the person Emma and the Crocodile had been searching for—had apparently absconded with his ship back to Storybrooke. (Which brought up all other sorts of memories and thoughts.)

“Don’t worry; I’ll take you back to it,” she promised him. If it weren’t for the fact she was constantly peppering him with questions about Storybrooke, he wouldn’t have believed that it was her destination, too. He was careful to not give much away, though; he doubted her goals were worthy. 

“Just when are you planning this trip? You’ve been saying that for two weeks now,” he had to ask her; he was finally starting to get a bit of cabin fever, and was eager to get back to his ship and chart out a future for him and his babe. 

“When I get the sign. Should only be a couple more days.”

He rolled his eyes and went back to his reading; he was nothing if not a patient man. As long as they left before the child arrived, he supposed it’d be alright. He’d have preferred the books he had on the ship but thankfully, only he had the key to where those were locked away. But reading Tamara’s collection of novels was a good way of learning about this realm. Despite not having actual magic, its advanced technology seemed to make up for it. 

Like the shower. Bloody hell, what a marvel! Tamara had to give him a lesson his first time using it, but what a luxury! (And to think it was a standard amenity here...incredible.) Letting the hot water run over him, cleanse his skin and soothe his aches, was the main thing that made this farcical imprisonment bearable. 

That, and it was in there he noticed the first visible sign of his child. Obviously, he’d been watching his midsection with a keen eye, but any changes seemed to be a long time coming. 

But then, at around 14 weeks, he first saw it: his navel was sticking out ever so slightly. Were it not for his minimal diet, he could have attributed it to normal weight fluctuations; but based on the increasing visibility of his ribs, he knew he was probably losing a bit of weight instead of the opposite. 

Still, his point of view of his stomach from inside the shower wasn’t the most reliable, he knew. But when he stepped out and stood in profile in the looking glass, it confirmed it: his child was starting to make his or her presence known. It still only looked like he’d eaten a rather large meal, but considering he hadn’t...bloody hell. Were it not for his prison guard rapping on the other side of the door for him to hurry up, he could have spent hours there staring at it.

It wasn’t long after that he started feeling the first twitches of movement within, as well. Nothing strong enough to be felt from the outside, of course—he thought it might be gas at first—but once he realized what was going on, it was all he could do to hide the tears of joy from his captor.

But he also found himself periodically plagued with guilt, especially with the revelation of Bae’s presence in this realm. Even so long after, he was still haunted by what he’d done to the boy. It was strange to think, but had things gone differently, they might have had the chance to actually be a family—the lad would have been an excellent big brother. 

That chance was probably long gone now, but it only furthered Killian’s resolve to be there for this one—to not do what either his or Bae’s father had done.

“That won’t happen to you, my love,” he murmured late at night, hand over the tiny bump and the tiny babe, gently fluttering within. “Gods above couldn’t keep me from you.”


	3. Chapter 3

By the time Tamara got this apparently mythic “sign” to head to Storybrooke, his bump had continued growing as it should (he assumed). It was still only just barely noticeable, if one was looking for it, and thankfully hadn’t expanded the confines of his clothing; he’d get at least another month or so in his vest before needing to find something a bit roomier, he figured. Which was all the better for keeping things concealed.

He shouldn’t have been surprised that she decided to transport him in a cargo attachment to her vessel. He just hoped the bumping and jostling didn’t hurt the babe—nor the way Tamara had tied rope around his waist when she attached him to the chair, or the way they decided to haul said chair to the clock tower.

For someone who had been accused of dramatics in his life, these two definitely outmatched him in that department. What better way to show him that the sense of relief and accomplishment he’d felt for the past few weeks was built on nothing, than by dragging him up there to reveal that Crocodile still lived? 

“No. No!” he had screamed; this couldn’t be happening. He struggled in vain to free a hand, instinctively trying to protect his child, to no avail.

They had a deal for him: help them get to Regina, and they’d show him how to destroy the Dark One. He had to decide—quickly—what would be the safest course of action for him and his child.

\-----------------------

Not much later, free from his restraints and with a bit of food in him, he made his way to Regina’s office. She appeared to be waiting for him.

“Captain!” she greeted, scanning him with her eyes. “You look like you've had a rough time.” He didn’t miss the fact that her gaze lingered on his midsection, but he wasn’t about to address that.

“Indeed, I have. I've come to ask you for your protection.”

“From Gold?” she assumed. “I'm surprised you'd show your face in this town after you noticed your murder didn't take.” She always had a perfect way of rubbing salt in wounds.

“Well, we've got bigger problems,” he plowed on. “That man—Greg Mendell, the one who hit me the night I shot Belle—well, he's in league with some woman. She abducted me in New York and dragged me back to Mendell. They want me to make an alliance with you, and then betray you. That's why they let me go.”

“Mhmm,” she hummed; she didn’t quite buy it, and he didn’t quite blame her.

“Well, I say that you and I make an alliance, and we'll skip the unpleasant betrayal business.”

“Why should I trust you?”

He stepped closer, invading her space. “I took up with your mother for a reason. Perhaps the three of us could reestablish in our alliance.”

“My mother died.”

His stomach fell (or perhaps it was just the nausea stirring up again). “That is sad news indeed. I'm sorry; she will be missed. But I tell you this, Regina: I knew her well enough to know what she wanted most in the world was to see you win. Now I failed in my revenge. The best tribute I could give her is to help you with yours.”

Regina thought about it a moment, then said, “Well, can I... Let me show you something.”

She led him to a small terrarium filled with a plant he’d recognize anywhere—a beanstalk. And its fruit was ripe. As soon as he laid eyes on it, his mind began to consider alternate ideas for his next step. “An escape plan? Oh, she would have loved that. She brought that giant for the beans so she could go back and start over with you,” he recalled, now jealous at the thought.

“And now I'm going to do that with Henry,” she said. “If you'll help me. This is how we're going to escape the total destruction of Storybrooke, if I can trust you.”

The idea of heading back to their land—being able to raise his child in peace—was the most tempting offer he’d heard today. But he needed to know more.

“Now when you say total destruction, including the crocodile, yes?”

“Oh, yes. Rumplestiltskin will die. If you help me.”

Well, he could hardly pass that up, could he?

She led him to the library and down a shaky lift to an underground cavern. Maybe it was because they were on the cusp of such great change and upheaval, but he found himself feeling oddly reflective; and frankly, Regina was the only one in this town he could discuss such things with.

As they walked along the stone path, he said, “You ever wonder if this constant pursuit for revenge is the reason we have no one who cares for us?”

“What on earth are you talking about?” she snipped.

“I’ve seen a life now wherein my goals were met, my revenge sated. And you know who I could celebrate that with? No one.”

“Well, I know that’s not true.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Stop playing coy; I know you’re knocked up.”

He sighed; there was no use hiding it from her anymore. “Aye, I am. And you want to know something? I spent so long on my quest for revenge, that I didn’t even know about it until recently. The mother isn’t here; nor are any of my friends, if I ever had any. Not a soul I could trust. What kind of a life is that?” 

“That all sounds like stuff I can deal with when I’ve finally found my revenge.”

“All I’m saying is that, it seems to me, enacting revenge is an empty end; not a beginning.”

“For you, maybe. Not me. I have Henry. And destroying Storybrooke? Well, that seems like a small price to pay to allow us to live in peace. You can’t tell me you don’t want that.”

He couldn’t, so he sighed and extended his arm, inviting her to continue—until she noticed the cuff on his wrist. Or, rather, demanded it once he said it was Cora’s. For a queen, she was rather predictable. 

“Now, follow me closely,” she said, once she’d affixed the cuff to her wrist. He felt minorly guilty for that, given what was supposedly inside it, but was truly considering reneging on his deal with Greg and Tamara. If Regina could get the two of them out of town safely, she was definitely his best choice in an ally.

Until she pushed him off a cliff a minute later and used him as bait, leaving him for dead. Never mind; he was more than ready to turn on her, assuming he and his babe got out of this scrape.

“Please be alright, little one,” he murmured as he ran from the remnants of Maleficent.

The shock on Regina’s face back upstairs upon seeing him alive was definitely worth it. He had no qualms with bringing in his associates to the proceedings and letting them take over. It was all he could do to not laugh at Regina’s failed attempt at using her magic. And he was more than content to watch her plans crumble around her.

He tagged along when they took Regina to their hidden base—after a quick trip to the lavatory to deal with nausea again (that was really getting annoying)—but didn’t stick around there long, especially not once he realized the goings-on there had very little to do with the overall plan.

From her prone position strapped to the table, Regina tried to bargain with him. “Whatever they're offering you, it's not worth it.”

“Well, considering they're offering to have me kill Rumplestiltskin, I'd say it is.”

“And you actually trust them? With everything you have on the line?” Her glance went to his stomach again. “You don't even know who you're working for.”

She had a point there—one that was sticking, as much as he didn’t want it to. He had rushed into this alliance somewhat blindly, hadn’t he? Was this what that book was talking about when it referenced ‘pregnancy brain’?

Greg invited him to stay for whatever he had planned next, but Killian declined. “Sorry, mate. Gonna have to say no. When you're interested in killing Rumplestiltskin and not torturing the Queen, find me.” And he left for the privacy of his ship.

\-----------------------------------------

After getting some decent rest, Killian decided it was prudent to visit the doctor again. He’d been through quite a lot in the past few weeks; better safe than sorry. And Doc was thankfully able to find time in his schedule to see him. 

“How have you been feeling?” he asked as he started his exam, checking over Killians abdomen and other parts. 

“Nauseous, but otherwise alright.”

“That can linger sometimes, unfortunately. And you’ve been taking it easy? I haven’t heard your name in the town gossip so I assume you’ve been keeping a low profile.”

“Well…” Killian watched as Doc’s eyes grew wide while he described the past few weeks, from being knocked out by Cora to thrown off a cliff by Regina.

“Uh, I think we need to do an ultrasound,” he said nervously. “That’s...a lot.”

“I’m aware,” Killian sighed. 

Doc left and came back with a machine that looked like the first one he used, but this time, he picked up a much larger instrument. 

“Bloody hell! What is that?” Killian asked when he came closer with it, trying to scoot away; no way that was going inside him. 

Doc looked at it, then seemed to realize what Killian was thinking. “Oh! No, no, no, it’s—this one is used on the outside.”

Killian sighed. “Good.”

“I just need your stomach again. Brace yourself; this will be cold.”

Killians breath hitched as Doc squirted a cold jelly onto the slight curve of his stomach, then flipped on the machine and started to move the probe against his skin. 

On the screen, a similar image to what he’d seen weeks ago appeared almost instantly—but it looked much more human-like this time. 

“There’s your baby!” he announced, pointing out its limbs, heart, and brain. “Everything appears normal; and looks like you’re around 16 weeks. But please, try to take it easier from here on out.”

Killian could do nothing but grin as he saw the image on the screen, wriggling in time with the flutters he could feel inside. “I’ll do my best,” he answered, which had more meaning than just answering the question. 

As he walked away from the office with another picture (and more pamphlets), he started to think about his actions over the last day or so more. Was he really in the best company to set up a good future for his babe? Did he even know how to do that anymore? (Or ever?)

When he got back to the ship, he added the new image and info to the older stash and retired to his bed. But he had an unusually hard time falling asleep as he warred with himself, and he couldn’t turn to his usual vices to knock him out. 

“I just want to do the right thing,” he said quietly, brushing his hand over his still-small bump. But he had no idea what that was, or where to find it. 

And Regina’s warning lingered, and his doubts about Greg and Tamara grew. That left him with two options, neither of which were ideal: strike out on his own...or seek out Emma.

Thinking of her sent his thoughts in other, less polite directions, so he dealt with that, but he couldn’t shake the idea that Swan and her people might be better—safer—company. The one barrier, though: they likely wouldn’t take him. 

At least he had plans, though, sating his captain-like desire to have a plan of action. With that, he was finally able to fall asleep. 

\------------------------------

The next day, he was headed into town, suddenly craving the greasy fare he knew was available at the diner, and praying he wouldn’t be shot on sight. But Greg was exiting upon his arrival outside the establishment and intercepted him. “Hook! Just who I was looking for. Come on, mate; we’ve got things to do.” Killian feared what might happen if he rejected the man, so cravings would have to be put on hold for the time being. 

He did hesitate, though, when Greg invited him to board his vehicle—the same one whose front end he was well-acquainted with. 

“Oh, right,” Greg said when he noticed Killian’s trepidation. “You’re much safer on the inside; promise.”

Killian arched an eyebrow in disbelief; the other man’s recovery from the accident took significantly longer than his own. 

“I’ll be extra careful,” Greg added.

“I’ll hold you to it.”

Killian definitely gripped the handle inside the door incredibly tight as they made their way across town; it might be a more efficient mode of transport, but he didn’t trust it just yet.

Once at the entrance to the mines, where Tamara was waiting, Greg parked the vehicle and led Killian into the tunnels; though they were labyrinthine, the man seemed to know where they were going.

“It's just ahead,” he said as the walls seemed less and less stable.

“Are you sure whoever's in charge of you doesn't want you guys to die in a mine collapse?”

“Just keep moving,” Tamara scolded.

“Who is telling you what to do?” The more Killian thought about what Regina had said, the more he needed answers from them.

“You know what? That's not your concern. It's not ours, either,” Greg sniped back.

“Not your concern,” Killian scoffed. “So you're telling me you don't know who commands you?”

Tamara sighed. “Unlike you, Hook, we believe in something. We have faith in the sacredness of our cause.”

“We're here,” Greg announced before Killian could come up with a snarky answer; just up ahead, he pulled an axe off a rack bolted to the stone wall. 

“So your sacred cause is pilfering a dwarf's pickaxe?” The churning in Killian’s gut had nothing to do with nausea or hunger; he didn’t like what was going on one bit.

“Regina had this in her pocket when you handed her over to us,” Tamara explained, pulling a dark brown gemstone from her coat.

“It's a trigger,” Greg continued, “and this ax, according to our people, is what activates it.”

Killian’s mind started to work quickly. “You're going to destroy an entire town, and kill everyone in it…”

“Yeah,” Greg confirmed. “Including your enemy.”

“Rumplestiltskin won't be immune to this?”

“None of your kind will be.” He wanted to protest the fact that he was being lumped in with the Dark One, but this wasn’t the time. “Once this thing gets activated, nothing can shut it off.”

Killian needed a new plan of action—fast. Quickly, he worked through his backup ideas and figured out what to do next as Greg set the jewel on a flat stone.

Greg said, “This whole town will revert to the forest it was. So tell us, Hook. We're willing to die for our cause. Are you willing to die for yours?”

He almost hesitated too long to reply; hopefully they didn’t notice. “Absolutely,” he lied.

They seemed to accept his answer, and then Greg hefted the axe aloft and swung down, striking the stone right in its center. It began to levitate and give off a blue glow; Killian just got his hand around his midsection in time for it to burst outward.

The mine began to shake as the failsafe began to work, and the three ran out of the tunnel. The couple shared a passionate kiss, and Killian used their distraction to stage his escape.

He had much more to live for than some unknown cause. And thankfully, he knew a few people in this town who’d feel the same. Hopefully, they listened to him.


	4. Chapter 4

Killian had figured out where the royal family lived sometime after his arrival in town, and his keen sense of direction led him to it without detour (well, save for one to lose the meager contents of his stomach in a bush). When he entered the building, he could hear the sounds of bickering coming through the open door at the top of the landing; they never even heard him coming up the stairs.

“STOP!” the young lad shouted. “I already lost my dad. I don't wanna lose anybody else. We have to work together.” 

“From the mouths of babes. I'd say the lad has a point,” Killian had to agree, enjoying the way everyone jumped at his voice as he entered the apartment. His tiny moment of glee was quickly burst, though, by the swift introduction of the prince’s fist to Killian’s face. 

“That was for the last time we met,” David added.

“Bloody hell,” Killian muttered, checking his nose for blood (and thankful the prince hadn’t headed any further south).

Finding nothing amiss other than what would likely be a sore spot, Killian looked back up to address the group—only to find the end of the prince’s gun staring him in the face.

“Tell us why you're here before I use something other than my fist.”

“I think threatening to kill me seems a bit redundant when we're all about to die anyway,” Killian threw back.

“No thanks to you,” Emma interjected. “Regina just told us you were working with Tamara and Greg to get your revenge.”

It was the first time he’d seen Emma in weeks and the flip his heart did at the sight of her was both foreign and welcome. Why had he waited so long to seek her out?

“Well, that was before they told me I had to die to get it,” he explained, hoping he hadn’t stared at her too long.

“We don't have time for this,” she said angrily, turning to her father. “We have a real problem.”

“Which is why I'm here,” Killian interjected again, calling her attention back to him. “'Cause staring death in the face has made me realize if there's one thing I want more than my revenge, it's my life.” Behind everyone else, Regina gave him a knowing look; but everyone else seemed to buy his reasoning. “So should we stop this thing now, and then resume bickering?”

Regina stepped forward, though. “There is no stopping it. And the best thing I can do is slow it down, but that will only delay the inevitable.”

“It'll give us the time we need,” the prince said, in a tone that generally indicated one had a plan.

“The time for what?” Snow White asked.

“Steal back the beans. Use them to get everyone into the Enchanted Forest before Storybrooke is gone.”

“How? We don't even know where Greg and Tamara are,” Emma countered.

Which was Killian’s prompt. “Well, I do. I can help.”

“Help yourself,” she scoffed. “You'll take them and leave us all behind. Why should we trust you?”

He refused to admit how much that stung—or, rather, continued to, ever since their trip up the beanstalk. But before he could defend himself, the prince stepped in.

“No, we won't have to. I'll go with him, and if he tries anything, I'll shoot him in the face.”

“Quite hostile, aren't we?”

“Just being clear.” How odd that he admired that fiery spirit in Emma but was so thoroughly annoyed by it in her father.

A plan quickly formed and roles were assigned, and people started to move for the door, save for Regina—who was making what sounded an awful lot like a goodbye to Henry. He wanted to be surprised at what was surely going to be a self-sacrificial moment for the queen, but if he truly stopped to think of it, he’d likely do the same, even if his own child was hardly the size of an avocado. The glance she gave him over the boy’s head was full of trust—she was counting on him to.

Were it just him, he likely would have prioritized saving himself over all the others. He knew it wouldn’t be all that hard to get a bean for himself and sail away, leaving everyone else to face their own fates. But now...he wouldn’t be able to face his child with all that blood on his hands. He already had enough of that as it was.

“The things we do for our children,” he found himself muttering as he followed David out the door.

\---------

Once more, he had to brave a terrifying motorized coach as the prince drove them to the cannery. Despite everything he’d been through in the past few weeks, he was certain that this form of transportation was most likely to harm him and his babe. But thankfully, it was a short trip, and he couldn’t wait to escape once the vehicle stopped moving.

No sooner had he set foot on solid ground, though, than it trembled beneath him; it had been doing that with increasing frequency. “Time’s running out,” he shouted at David as they headed for the entrance.

Sarcastically, the prince threw back, “Oh, is that what that means?”

Greg and Tamara were in the far end of the building from where they were, but they carefully traversed its length, not wanting to give any warning they were there. Killian was definitely on edge, and he wasn’t sure which was racing faster: his heart, or the rapid flutters of his child.

“So, tell me, Hook,” David started, albeit quietly, as he followed Killian. “All this time, it's been about revenge for you. Why is that suddenly so important to you that you survive? I know what I'm fighting for—my family. What are you fighting for?

As much as Killian longed to say the same, he knew he couldn’t just yet. “Myself. That's plenty of motivation, I can assure you.” Hopefully his reputation covered his half-truth.

Not that it mattered; footsteps fell up ahead and they both fell silent just as Greg came into view.

A scuffle ensued as the two sides fought to gain control of the beans; Killian was briefly discombobulated when Tamara shot the prince’s gun from his hand, but he saw his opportunity as Greg was taunting them with the jar containing the items. He knew it was dangerous, fighting over such an item so violently, but the alternative was even worse, and so he tackled the man to the ground (and was quite pleased to be the one doing the punching for a change). 

David disappeared, chasing after Tamara, while Killian and Greg scrambled for the beans as they lay in the shattered glass; they both got their fingers on one each at the same time, and Greg was up and running much faster than Killian was capable of. 

But he wasn’t far behind, thankfully, as he had to hold back David from running after the other pair.

“What are you doing? They've got the beans!” he shouted, struggling.

“Not all of them. I snagged one,” he explained, showing it to David before putting it in the pocket attached to his belt.

“Where are the rest?”

“Who cares? All we need is one.” David attempted to run after them again; perhaps this was good practice in dealing with an unruly, stubborn child, he thought as he grabbed David’s arm. “Hey! Live to fight another day, mate!”

“I'm not your mate,” the prince snarled, then ripped the pouch off Killian’s belt and headed back the other direction. Kilian sighed, and followed him out.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Much of the conversation in the diner around him was drowned out by the delight that was Granny’s cooking; he was glad he’d be able to sate his craving at least once more before whatever happened next, and he’d never met a dish quite like lasagna before. Until he heard an absolute absurd idea—to use the bean on the trigger and save Regina—and turned around on his stool just in time to intercept the bean as David tossed it to Emma.

Sounds of protest immediately followed his deft grab, but he didn’t care. “You're all mad.” Emma tried to grab it back, but he was easily able to hold it out of reach. “I can live with myself.”

“Give it back,” Emma demanded; goodness, she was attractive like this—all fiery anger—but now was not the time.

“If she wants to die for us, I say let her.”

Emma took a step closer, but made no attempt to reach for the bean this time; he smelled something lightly floral that seemed to suit her perfectly, but still—not the time. “You and I—we understand each other,” she said. “Look out for yourself, and you'll never get hurt, right?”

“Worked quite well for me,” he agreed, even if that wasn’t the whole truth.

“Yeah, till the day that it doesn't. We're gonna do this. It might be stupid, it might be crazy, but we're doing it. So... you can join us and be a part of something, or you can do what you can do best and be alone.”

He swallowed. It should be unnerving, how well she had him figured out despite not knowing the whole story. But it was hard to argue against a statement like that.

“Quite passionate, Swan,” he answered, and handed over the pouch. No one waited for any more words and immediately headed for the door, but he hung back—partly because he wanted to finish that lasagna, and partly because he wasn’t done with Emma. Before she’d taken two steps, he reached for her forearm. “Why are you really doing this?” he asked; he could read her just as easily.

And she knew it. “The kid just lost his father today,” she admitted. “I'm not letting him lose a mother, too.”

That was odd; he hadn't heard of any casualties. “His father? Who's Henry's father?”

“Neal,” she answered somberly.

Bloody hell—no. “Baelfire?”

“Yeah.”

This wasn’t nausea—there was genuinely a pit forming in Killian’s stomach. Bae couldn’t be gone; they’d never even—he hadn’t—

He pushed those feelings away as he watched Emma turn and walk out. If Bae was gone, then that meant there was truly nothing for him here.

He felt the smoothness of the bean in his jacket pocket, where he’d hidden it. Good riddance, Storybrooke.

\------------------------------------------------

The tremors that were shaking the ground were also stirring the sea, but not enough that he had any problem getting the ship out into open waters. Once he was far enough away from land, he pulled out the bean from his jacket pocket.

For a moment, he stared at it, and felt its coolness against his fingers. How odd that something so small had so much power. Although, he did have to admit: the first image he’d seen of his child was fairly similar in shape, and there was no doubting the sway they held over him; it was why they were here, after all.

Killian tried to focus his thoughts on the Enchanted Forest before throwing the bean and opening the portal, but his thoughts were oddly jumbled, and it wasn’t just pregnancy brain this time.

His gaze drifted to the markings he’d carved into—and scratched off—the helm so many years ago. Bae. 

Now that he was alone, he could feel the emotions at learning of the lad’s passing finally welling up. Well, he wasn’t quite a lad anymore, was he? Or, had he been, rather. He’d grown up somehow, fathered a child, led a life—a life that surely wasn’t what it should have been, and it was definitely Killian’s fault. 

And now, there was a decent chance Bae’s son would face a similar fate, if Killian had interpreted things right. Could he let that happen in exchange for his own child’s safety?

Just then, he felt something sharp in his stomach; his hand flew to the spot, low on the gentle curve of his belly. What on earth had that been?

A moment later, he felt it again, this time against his palm. Was that...was the babe kicking? The books indicated that he shouldn’t be able to feel it yet—not for some time, actually—but there it was again. His child—kicking—communicating with him.

And he could tell right away what they were saying: that no, he could not leave another boy to face the same fate Bae had.

Which meant there was only one thing to do. As quick as he could, he pocketed the bean again and spun the wheel, turning the ship around.

\---------------------------------------

The ship was only just docked when the band of heroes were already gathered around the gangplank.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Emma called out as they approached. If he took a long moment to appreciate how she looked with the sea breeze blowing her blonde curls, he kept that to himself.

“Helping,” he answered dryly as he shuffled down the ramp.

“Well, you're too late,” Regina snarked, but sounded oddly worn out.

“Am I?” he tossed back; something had clearly happened in the short time he’d been gone.

Emma was waiting for him at the bottom of the plank. “I thought you didn't care about anyone but yourself,” she said, quietly and accusingly. His stomach flipped and he wasn’t about to try to figure out why.

Instead, he pulled the bean from his pocket and held it out to her. “Maybe I just needed reminding that I could.”

Amazingly, she seemed speechless as she took it from him, then glanced around at the others. Regina, ever the impatient one, was the first to speak up.

“Enough waiting around, let's go.”

“Go? Where?” He’d definitely missed something. “I thought we were saving the town.”

“We already did,” the prince answered; Killian supposed he wasn’t all that surprised.

“We need to get Henry,” Emma continued. “Greg and Tamara took him through a portal.”

Bloody hell; he knew that pair was trouble. There was no debate; he knew what he had to do. “Well, I offer my ship and my services to help follow them,” he quickly supplied. A gentle but firm kick in his belly seemed to indicate his child’s approval.

“Well that's great, Hook, but how do we track them?” Regina complained as they began to board; he could now see her attitude covering up the panic.

“Leave that to me.” The Dark One’s voice never failed to send a chill down Killian’s spine. “I can get us to where we need to go.”

Before he could protest, Snow decided for all of them. “Well, let's do it.” He had to concede for the moment; if they had no clue where the wretched pair had taken the boy, then he certainly couldn’t steer them in the right direction.

Everyone boarded and found places on the deck while Killian readied things. Last aboard was the Crocodile; Killian’s stomach turned at the sight, not just because of recent memories on this deck, but past ones, too. It never seemed to end well when he was on board. This man was the reason his child would never know their mother, and that was impossible to forgive.

But it wasn’t about Killian’s family right now. 

“So, are you done trying to kill me?” the Dark One sneered as Killian descended from the quarterdeck.

“I believe so,” he answered solemnly; at least, he was for now. Gods forbid the man ever came near his child, though.

“Excellent. Then you can live.” Without further prompting, the reptilian man waved his hand, and a swirl of smoke appeared on a crate; when it dissipated, it revealed a frosted glass globe, blank of markings.

Everyone seemed to be watching as he pricked his finger on the sharp point of the needle attached to the instrument, then dripped his blood on the cloudy glass. It swirled red until a map began to take shape—of some terrifyingly familiar islands.

“Where is that?” Regina demanded. “Where did they take Henry?”

Killian swallowed before answering; and gods, he wished it was anywhere else. “Neverland.”

He had no way of knowing whether the nausea turning his stomach was from the babe, or the prospect of entering that accursed realm again.

To his surprise, the only other person who seemed to realize the gravity of the situation was Rumplestiltskin; they exchanged a heavy look, before Killian broke it to get them moving. The sooner they got there, the sooner they could leave...he hoped.

Once the ship was ready again, Emma handed the bean back to him, along with a look that threatened murder should anything go awry. He almost feared that more than anything the Dark One could do to him.

Focusing on Neverland, he squeezed the bean in his hand, then threw it into the ocean and began to steer the ship into the portal that quickly formed.

His companions began to ask questions about where they were headed and who they’d be facing; he wondered what falsehoods this realm knew, but was too focused on navigation—and the flutters in his stomach that were of indeterminable origin—to hear what they were saying.

He knew well enough what lay ahead. And all he could do was send a prayer to whatever deity was listening that he and his babe survived the trip.

And he felt a very firm kick as the swirling waters closed around them, carrying them on their next adventure.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope I didn't keep y'all waiting too long! Here's a new chapter; we're entering Neverland now!

Splashing down in Neverland filled Killian with an array of emotions, few of them positive. They’d made it through the portal in one piece, thankfully, but just the sight of the cursed island looming on the horizon filled him with dread. Getting here had been the easy part; gods only knew what lay ahead.

“Is that it?” Emma called out once the ship had set itself to rights (Killian was mildly jealous of it; his stomach matched the churning sea below them).

“Aye,” he confirmed. “Neverland.”

He couldn’t see her face to read her expression, but the determined set of her shoulders told him everything: she was willing to risk all to save her son. He saw similar in the fierce expression Regina wore, even in the composed and precise manner of Snow and David. And yet again he wondered: was he really cut out for parenting? 

His life was dangerous. Hell, he himself was known to be. Yet again, he’d dragged his child to this timeless realm; how long would the babe’s growth be stalled now? What if something happened to him? What if Pan found a way to use it against them?

As if to calm him down, he felt a few strong kicks just behind his navel. Well, that was a good sign, he supposed. He let out a quiet sigh of relief and set to the task of navigating them to the island.

“Why are you slowing down?” Regina snapped, suddenly at his side. “In case you didn't know, my son's life is in danger.”

He bit back a huff, only because he knew her anger was a mask for her fear. “Oh, I know, my hot-headed Queen. The plan is to bring us to the far side of the island, link up with the widest part of the river, and.. then we sail right through, take him by surprise,” he explained. “The irony…” he muttered under his breath.

“What irony?” she asked, much more calmly.

“Oh, I spent more time than I care to remember trying to leave this place to kill Rumplestiltskin. And here I am, sailing right back into its heart with him as my guest of honor.” The man in question had disappeared below deck nearly as soon as they landed. “It's not quite the happy ending I was hoping for.”

Regina seemed oddly thoughtful. “Greg Mendell said something funny to me. He said I'm a villain, and that villains don't get happy endings. You believe that?”

Weeks ago, he would have concurred; but now… “I hope not, or we've wasted our lives.”

“I thought Henry was going to be mine,” she admitted quietly. “Little did I know he’d just be the start of another adventure.” Then she smiled at him. “You’ll know what I’m talking about soon enough.”

“Assuming we all make it out of this alive,” he tossed back, expressing his own realism as he overheard a tense bit of conversation between the Charming family that seemed to revolve around the inherent optimism Emma had not inherited. “Though, I have been meaning to ask—how could you tell?”

“That you were knocked up? Please; I’m Cora’s daughter. She taught me long ago how to look for any signs of weakness. And Hook? You’re practically glowing,” she told him, smirking.

He couldn't hold back his own smile at that; while logically, he knew that put him at risk to other enemies knowing, it was also kind of nice to know his own newfound source of joy showed in his demeanor. It had been well over a century since he’d even really had anything to be happy about.

Their attention was drawn to the deck by Snow’s insistent promise to Emma of, “We'll find Henry.” Well, that was the point, wasn't it?

“No, you won't.” From nowhere, the Dark One had appeared on the quarterdeck, his earlier instruments put away and now in garb typical of the Enchanted Forest. 

“Oh, that's a great use of our time—a wardrobe change,” Killian quipped, but if Gold heard, he didn’t acknowledge it—and instead went on to lecture the group on how they would not succeed in their endeavor.

“What makes you think I'm gonna fail?” Emma bit back, angry, and he didn’t blame her. (In fact, it was rather when he liked her best—passionate.)

“Well, how could you not?” Rumplestiltskin insisted. “You don't believe in your parents, or in magic, or even yourself.”

“I slayed a dragon. I think I believe.” Now that was a story Killian needed to hear.

“Only what was shown to you. When have you ever taken a real leap of faith? You know, the kind where there's absolutely no proof?” The Dark One continued his diatribe, but Killian’s gaze was fixed on Emma—and the way he could see the doubts and fear beginning to cloud her mind.

“I'll do whatever it takes,” she insisted, but he could tell she was trying to convince herself as much as Gold.

“Well, you just need someone to tell you what that is. Sorry, dearie, our foe is too fearsome for hand-holding.” That, unfortunately, was accurate. “Neverland is a place where imagination runs wild. And, sadly, yours doesn't.” And then the bastard disappeared. Alas, it was just as well. Plus, the man was starting to make Killian nauseous.

Or perhaps that was just the babe; he’d never been one to be seasick but considering everything, he was definitely feeling a bit green. He used the silence that followed the Dark One’s departure to make sure they were set on the right course, but once that was set, he asked the Charmings to hold the helm while he sought out the ginger drops he knew were hiding in his cabin.

He was only slightly surprised to find Emma had beaten him down there, and was practicing pullups on a bar in the room. She paused when she heard his footsteps.

“Oh, don't stop on my account,” he said, admiring the view as he walked past. Her form-fitting trousers were stirring other sorts of feelings in him; goodness, these hormones were going to give him whiplash.

“Wouldn't think of it,” she replied, pretending to ignore him, and went back to it.

He easily located the drops, sitting in a pouch on his desk. “What are you doing?” he had to ask.

“Getting ready for a fight,” she bit back, pulling herself up and then landing back on the platform.

“Well, I've never known you to need to get ready for a fight. I thought it was a natural state,” he teased as he grabbed the bag, then reapproached her. “Don't let Rumplestiltskin get you down, love.”

She jumped down from the ledge and leveled a glare at him. “Why did you come down here? What is that?” she demanded, nodding at the bag in his hand.

“Ginger drops,” he said, then quickly realized he wasn’t ready to divulge his need of them. “They help with seasickness; Her Highness was looking a bit green around the gills.”

That got a bit of a smile out of her, and thankfully she bought the lie. Although, when he glanced at the shelf to the left of them, he remembered something hidden inside—something that might boost her morale. 

“Might you permit me to give you something?” he asked, not wanting to offend her. She nodded.

He pocketed the drops and fished out a key from another pocket. “You know, Baelfire and I once spent a lot of time together,” he started to explain as he unlocked a compartment built into the shelf.

“He was always Neal to me,” she replied, albeit morosely.

“Yeah. Right,” he acknowledged, then grabbed the object hidden behind the small door. “This was his.”

It was a sword—a small cutlass he had once used to teach the lad how to fight, and damn near took his own head off when things went sour. Gingerly, Emma took it from him with both hands.

“I didn't realize you were sentimental,” she said as she assessed it.

“I'm not,” he lied again, and saw another useful item sitting on the shelf. “I just thought you could use it where we're going. You know, to fight.” And then he handed her the shot glass.

“Thanks,” she said as he filled it with rum from his flask, which he then offered up in a toast.

“To Neal.” (He knew what all the books said about drinking during pregnancy, but given the current stasis, one shot likely couldn’t hurt.)

“To Neal,” she answered, and clinked the glass against the flask before downing the shot. (Guilt got the better of him, and he only had a small sip.) 

After a brief, but not uncomfortable silence, Emma asked, “How long was he with you?”

“Long enough for me to know that I miss him, too,” he answered, this time truthfully. As surreptitiously as he could, he rested his hand on his belt—because he could feel the sudden intense flutters within, as if the child somehow knew they were talking about their sibling—or perhaps was encouraging him to do something else.

Emma had shown utmost trust in him in undertaking this journey. And if they were going to get through this and achieve their goal, then that was going to have to go all directions. It would be fair of him to show he trusted her by revealing his condition, wouldn’t it?

He swallowed and was about to tell her, but the small peace they’d had was interrupted by a loud bang against the hull and sudden groaning and creaking of the ship.

“What was that?” Emma blurted out, and they quickly dashed up to the deck to see what was amiss.

Emma’s parents were struggling to hold the wheel steady, and the waves were tossing the ship about like it was a toy. Only he quickly realized—this was no natural storm, and a glance over the railing confirmed his fears.

HIs nausea would have to wait, lest none of them survive. He made a mad dash for the helm to try to wrest control of it. “Prepare for attack!”

“Be more specific,” Regina demanded, clearly not understanding the gravity of the situation.

“If you've got a weapon, then grab it,” he called out as he fought against the wheel.

“What's out there? A shark? A whale?” Emma guessed; if only she’d guessed right.

“A kraken?” her father added.

“Worse.” An unholy screeching filled the air. “Mermaids.”

The next—gods, he wasn’t even sure how long—fell into a blur of panic and anger as the vile creatures mounted their attack and his passengers made the idiotic mistake of not only bringing one on board, but angering her even more (and possibly killing her). Which of course brought on a violent storm and even more vicious emotions; it was all he could do to keep the prince’s fists away from Killian’s abdomen (again). 

And then Emma leapt into the sea, taking his stomach with her. They managed to save her but it left him with an uncomfortable amount of adrenaline in his system, even if their cooperation ended up dissipating the storm. Bloody Neverland and its odd magic.

Despite a breach in the hull, he managed to get the Roger to land, although not where he had planned. And it would need repairs before they could attempt to leave the realm. But at least they’d made it this far.

And to think—this would likely be the easy part.

To his shock, Regina voiced her support of his original plan once they made landfall, but even he knew that a sneak attack was unlikely to happen at this point; there was no way Pan didn’t know they were there, not after what had just happened on the sea. There was an aggravating omniscience about that boy.

“It's time we stop running,” Emma lectured. “Gold was right. This land is run on belief. All of us have been too busy being at each other's throat to be believers. I was as wrong as anyone else. It's time for all of us to believe. Not in magic, but in each other.”

“You want to be friends? After everything that's happened between all of us?” As inclined as he was to agree with Emma, Regina had a point; he had not one but two sore spots on his face from David.

“I don't want or expect that. I know there's a lot of history here, a lot of hate,” Emma countered.

“Actually, I quite fancy you from time to time, when you're not yelling at me,” Killian quipped in a lame attempt to lighten the mood. And then immediately regretted it; gods, did pregnancy brain also mean he blurted out his every thought? He’d need to sharpen that, and quickly.

“We don't need to be friends. What we need now is the only way to get Henry back, which is cooperation.”

“With her? With him?” the prince protested, gesturing Killian’s way. “No, Emma. We have to do this the right way.” Killian did manage to bite back a comment on the prince’s self-righteousness.

“No, we don't. We just need to succeed. And the way we do that is by just being who we are—a hero, a villain, a pirate.” He had to admit the slight thrill it gave him when Emma’s gaze lingered on him. “It doesn't matter which, because we're going to need all those skills, whether we can stomach them or not.”

“And what's your skill, Savior?” Regina tossed back.

“I'm a mother. And now I'm also your leader. So either help me get my son back or get out of the way.” And without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heel and headed towards the jungle. 

Gods, he loved it when she was fired up like that.

Snow was quick to follow Emma, as was David, who cast an oddly inviting look Killian’s way, as if challenging him to turn back now. Which, of course, he wouldn’t. 

Killian didn’t hesitate to fall in line, but not before throwing a glance at Regina; she was still put out, it seemed, by Emma’s take charge attitude. Someone had to, though. And Henry was her son, too.

She wasn’t far behind him.

It quickly became apparent that, as the only one who had any idea where they were, Killian should lead; he knew there was a ridge not far up that would give them a decent view of the island and hopefully reveal Pan’s hiding spot. Regina balked at the idea of hiking, but was convinced otherwise when they reminded her of the dangers at every turn.

“He’s right,” Emma told her. “Hook's lived here before. If he says hiking up is the best way, then we listen.” He wasn’t expecting the vote of confidence, but it was nice to have; he wasn’t naive enough to think that perhaps his attraction was reciprocated, but it was an extra reminder that he had Emma’s trust—which wasn’t easy to come by.

But of course, the wriggling thing in his belly was a reminder that he needed to place equal trust in her.

At least—after he saved the idiot next to him from slashing his way to death.

He saw the vines before he saw David swing back to slice at them and was able to shout a warning and get his hook around the man’s bicep before he could make contact.

The prince shook him off angrily. “I can handle a couple of thorns.”

“That's dreamshade,” Killian explained, nodding toward the demonic plant. “It's not the thorns you have to worry about. It's the poison they inject you with. This plant is the source of the toxins I used on the Dark One.”

They were all familiar, it seemed, with his failed assassination attempt—but were aware of its potency, and seemed to take his message about its effects to heart. Killian wasn’t about to lose another ally to that venom, even if they weren’t exactly on friendly terms.

“I suggest we go this way,” he directed, nodding down the path to the right of the bush.

David glanced at it, then looked the other direction. “We'll go this way.” Bloody obstinate arse. But Snow followed him, and then it was Regina’s turn to throw a wry glance his way.

Emma came up behind her and he fell into step with her. “Your father's a distrustful fellow,” he observed.

“He's just not used to working with the bad guys.”

“I can assure you, on this island, I am not the bad guy.”

“Yeah, well, Pan's not supposed to be one either,” she countered.

“What possibly gave you that idea?” The concept of that demon be considered remotely good turned his stomach (unless that was just the usual nausea stirring up again).

“Every story I ever heard as a child,” she explained, oblivious to his discomfort.

“Well, they got it all wrong. Pan is the most treacherous villain I've ever faced.” He tried to swallow down the bile that was churning inside, and decided to change the subject slightly. “Tell me something, love. In these stories...what was I like? Other than a villain. Handsome, I gather?”

She smirked, but not necessarily in a good way. “If waxed mustaches and perms are your thing.”

Sometimes, it felt like they were speaking different languages. “I take it by your tone, perms are bad?”

She just laughed a bit as they continued on, but they didn’t get much farther before the contents of his stomach came up with little warning. He managed to bite out an “excuse me” before ducking alongside a tree and retching. Ugh, he’d hoped with things in stasis, this part of pregnancy would be on pause, too; apparently not.

“Woah, Hook—are you okay?” Emma asked, hovering near his side. “You’re not hungover or something, are you?”

It took a moment to catch his breath. “Far from it,” he replied.

“Did you catch some rare Neverland stomach bug or something? Is that something else we need to worry about?”

He chuckled humorlessly. “I suppose you could call it that, but it has nothing to do with Neverland.”

He straightened from his hunched-over position to find her staring at him with her brow furrowed, both assessing him and confused at the same time. “What is going on, then? It’s going to be hard for you to guide us if you’re not 100%.”

Well, it looked like she was going to force his hand. “If you must know,” he started, then leaned in closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’m pregnant.”


	6. Chapter 6

_ “If you must know,” he started, then leaned in closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’m pregnant.” _

Emma stared at him for a moment, then scoffed. “Seriously? This is no time for jokes.”

A spark of anger quickly ignited within Killian; he wasn’t sure if that was his normal temper, or the hormones playing a part. “Why the bloody hell would I make something like that up?”

“I don’t know; some weird attempt to lighten the mood.”

“Am I lying?” he snapped back.

She opened her mouth a few times, trying to come up with an equal retort, but he saw the realization of his truth wash over her. She finally came up with, “That’s impossible.”

“Afraid not.” 

She blinked in disbelief and looked him up and down, her gaze eventually settling on his midsection. His bump was still mostly hidden by the bulk of his vest, but if one knew to look, they could see the way his stomach curved just above his belt. “Wait, for real?”

If it weren’t for the taste of bile on his tongue, he probably would have found humor in her reaction. As it was, he simply longed for a drag from the waterskin Snow was carrying and his temper was wearing thin. Impulsively, he reached out for her hand and placed the back of it against his stomach, against the spot where its inhabitant was currently moving about—not strongly discernible kicks, not from the outside, but definitely noticeable, especially (hopefully) to someone who had been through this before.

Emma’s eyes grew wide in shocked recognition and she snatched her hand back. “Holy shit; you’re pregnant.”

“Aye; and if you don’t mind, I’d like to wash my mouth out with something other than rum.” And without another word, stepped around Emma to join the rest of the group.

Emma only paused a moment before rushing to catch back up to him. “But...how?” she stammered.

“Well, when a man and woman love each other—”

“I know that,” she cut off. “But like...is that a normal thing in the Enchanted Forest?” She cast a worrying look in the direction of her father.

And as quick as the anger had come, it was replaced with sympathy just as fast; he couldn’t fault Emma’s confusion, when it evidently was an impossibility in her realm. “Not necessarily; it’s rare—only runs in certain families—but it does happen. Obviously.”

He hoped that might be the end of it, not quite wanting that revelation to drop on any unsuspecting ears just yet, but Emma had more questions. And honestly, it felt nice to talk to someone about it, however briefly, and equally nice to have someone take an interest.

“How far along are you?” she continued.

“About sixteen weeks, the doctor says.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Just Regina.”

“Is she the...mother, or whatever?”

“Heavens no.” Though he could see why she’d think that.

She grew silent for a bit. “You should have told me,” she finally scolded.

“I know,” he agreed.

“I can’t afford to be worried about you, too.”

That honestly took him aback; it had been centuries since anyone had any concern for him. “I’m flattered, love, but you don’t have to; I can take care of myself,” he assured her. Her focus needed to be on Henry—not his sorry arse.

She was about to say something, but David’s voice interrupted. “Up here! We made it!”

They jogged ahead to join the rest of the group at the ridge, which gave an unparalleled view of the island, specifically the Dark Jungle—or at least, it had; it appeared to have grown over quite a bit in Killian’s absence. They heeded his warning on going through it, at least, and agreed to his recommendation to make camp with only minor protest.

He thought sleep would claim him quickly—while he wasn’t as fatigued as he had been weeks ago, he still found himself needing more than in the past; given the excitement of the last day, he knew he needed it. But the island wasn’t quite ready to let him. 

The crying—how had he forgotten it?

The sound of the Lost One’s wails echoed in his skull, and if he wasn’t careful, his own would likely join them; it certainly had in the past. Regardless of the number of decades that had passed since his father deserted him and his brother, the cries never failed to bring up the feelings of hurt and abandonment that lay buried within.

But now it wasn’t just for him—gods, what if that happened to his child? For not the first time (and likely not the last), he worried that one or more of his enemies, or even just his penchant for ending up in life-threatening situations, would leave his child parentless.

He rolled from his back to his side, away from the others, and curled in on himself, hoping the fetal position—and feeling of fetal movements under his palm—might calm his thoughts and mind, but it was to no avail. He squeezed his eyes shut in concentration, but all that did was force out the tears that had been brimming at them. It had been many years since he’d silently cried, but as a lad, it had been a lifesaving skill; thank goodness he still remembered how.

Gods, how was no one else reacting to this? Even with the echoing sobs in the foliage, he could still hear the prince’s snores, and the general silence told him everyone else was equally still.

He let his crying jag run its course; he’d need the waterskin again soon, but hopefully he would at least cry himself to sleep. Alas, he did not, and the rhythmic sounds of the others in the camp did nothing to lull him, either.

Sighing, he returned to his back, hoping the stars might give some comfort—but they were invisible through the foliage. He quietly sighed again and let his head fall to the other side, glancing at the rest of the camp. The first thing he saw was a blanket lying in a heap and Emma’s jacket—but no Emma.

He sat bolt upright. He had no doubts she heard the voices, too. He’d known her for a lost girl from the moment he’d locked eyes with her. But why the bloody hell had she gone off alone?

His jacket was on and he was ready to search for her when she returned on her own, a blank sheet of parchment in hand that he could immediately tell was anything but harmless.

It was Pan; of course it was. A shiver went down his spine at the thought of the demon child being close and he not being aware of it.

After rousing the others, she explained: the map would lead them to Henry, but first, she had to stop denying who she really was. Regina scoffed at the idea and questioned its validity, but he set her straight: Pan loved his games, and this is just another they had to play.

(Surprisingly, he had the Charmings on his side. “I’m winning you over; I can feel it,” he teased David; he took the responding roll of eyes as progress.)

Of course, Emma coming to terms with her identity was much easier said than done. It took a certain kind of confidence—and many years—for most people to fully own their selves; for Killian, it had taken a handful of decades to achieve that kind of self-awareness. That was time they didn’t have for Emma. 

In her typical impatience, Regina decided a quicker plan: use a tracking spell on the parchment itself to lead to Pan. Again, he found himself in agreement with the Charmings, that using magic was a risk. But Her Majesty wouldn’t hear it, and off they went into the jungle…

...Right into an ambush. He should have known that would happen; alas, the only warning he could give was of the danger hidden in the Lost Boys’ poisoned arrow tips. He said a silent prayer to whoever might be listening that he and his child would manage to avoid that fate; and, to his surprise, a warm wash of magic ran over him—shielding him, it felt like. He caught Regina’s eye from across their circle and she nodded at him. Well, at least she’d done that.

They somehow made it through the altercation relatively unscathed, though David seemed to have had a too-close encounter with an arrow, and Killian really did not want to deal with Felix ever again. Pan repeated his smug instructions to Emma, and then their foes retreated...leaving them no closer to finding Henry.

He took small comfort in the gentle movements he felt within while he subtly rested his hand on his belt on their trek back to camp. They may not have come out ahead, but at least they weren’t behind (he hoped).

He and Regina hung back at the campsite while Emma and her parents continued at the map. His adrenaline from the fight was starting to fade and his interrupted sleep was calling for him—but at the same time, he was too spooked to sleep. Regina’s pacing seemed to suggest the same thing.

“Thank you for the protection,” he said quietly; his voice seemed to startle her from her thoughts, but she recovered quickly.

“No problem. I wasn’t about to risk anything happening to...you know.”

“I appreciate it. But I’d also rather we not find ourselves in that sort of situation again.”

She nodded. “I know; I was hasty. I just...I hate not knowing where he is.”

He stepped closer. “I know I’m not as familiar with your boy, but we’ve all got our motivations to get him back. You need to trust the rest of us.”

She scoffed. “Afraid I’ve never been much of a team player.”

“Well you best figure out how, because not only does your son’s life depend on it, but all of ours—including my child’s, as well.” He turned and stalked away, letting Regina brood while he did much the same. 

The sooner they worked together, the sooner they saved the lad and got out of this bloody realm, and his child would be safe again.

It seemed like the Charmings were having a moment, so he stepped aside briefly to deal with another stirring of nausea, then rinsed his mouth out with rum after. He was rather annoyed that he’d likely be dealing with that for the duration of their stay here; all the more reason to find any way to hasten it.

He’d barely returned to the clearing and pocketed his flask when Emma was running towards him. “The map is working! We know where Henry is,” she practically shouted, shoving it in his face.

Sure enough, a map of the island had appeared on the parchment—a deceptively simple one.

Emma stood at his side as he studied it, and Regina was quick to jump on the other. “Where?”

It took him aback, for a moment, that they were both willing to listen to him. “Uh...We're here at the southern tip of the isle, in the middle of the Dark Jungle,” he explained, gesturing with his hook, “and Pan's camp lies due north.” A bright red X marked the spot; but it didn’t detail the dangers that lay between here and there.

“That's where he's keeping Henry,” Emma stated matter-of-factly.

Regina clearly hadn’t taken his previous lecture to heart. “What are we waiting for?”

“Well, the terrain’s not easy,” he warned. “There will undoubtedly be some nasty impediments along the way.” He shot her an annoyed look.

“We should prepare,” David stepped in. “We only made it out of our last encounter because Pan let us. We need a new plan.”

“Agreed. It's time we stop playing his game and he starts playing ours,” Emma concurred.

Regina bristled. “And if I disagree?”

Emma wasn’t having it. “Go ahead, but I think you know our best chance is together.” Again, Killian sent a knowing look in Regina’s direction.

She swallowed bitterly. “You better be right.”

Everyone dispersed to either sulk or plan, but Emma lingered in his space. He hadn’t missed her reddened eyes, or the general sense of emotional exhaustion.

“Excellent show of patience, luv,” he encouraged her. “And that's what defeats a nasty little boy.”

“I hope so,” she confessed. He wished he knew of a better way to comfort her, but he was still on the outside looking in when it came to her walls, and had little more than a crack to peer through. That said, he knew where he usually turned in moments like that, and pulled his flask back out. She rolled her eyes as he did. “Is rum your solution to everything? You shouldn’t even be drinking that.”

“It certainly doesn't hurt. And it’s not for me; it’s for you.” She eyed it briefly in his extended hand, then took it from him and drank a very long swig. It seemed to help; she relaxed a bit—as much as she could, given the situation. Which was good, because his curiosity got the best of him and pregnancy brain meant he had little to no filter. “So just how did you unlock the map?” he asked.

“I did what Pan asked,” she shrugged.

“And just who are you, Swan?”

She smirked and handed the flask back. “Wouldn't you like to know?” 

“Perhaps I would,” he confessed solemnly. She’d clearly been expecting flirtation and not blunt honesty, if the way she was taken aback was any indication. 

But it was quickly followed by a small smile. “Ask me that again when we get home and I might have an answer for you.”

She then wandered back to her parents, leaving him in an almost stunned silence. The fact that she hadn’t shot him down was not something he had prepared for—but he was far from complaining.

Logically, he knew there were far more important matters at hand than flirting with his crush. But who said he couldn’t do both? (Especially if she was going to be receptive to the idea?)

Intense fluttering started behind his navel again; he rested his palm against it while he was still out of everyone’s sight. “All the more reason for us to fight to get home, eh, little one?” he murmured.

They still had a fight ahead—gods only knew what they’d face—but for the first time, he was feeling optimistic. 

(And hopefully, it wasn’t just the hormones talking.

(Emma, meanwhile, was starting to plan and prep with her parents, but was running over that conversation in her mind. He’d been genuine with her—as much as when he confessed his condition to her earlier. Despite his past proclamations, he really knew her about as well as she knew him: not as much as she’d like. That realization was throwing her for a loop; she was in the middle of a cursed jungle trying to rescue her son—why in the hell was she flirting with a pirate? A pregnant one at that?

And why didn’t she regret it one bit?)


End file.
